


Cobalt in Blue

by Abalisk



Category: One Piece
Genre: Adventure, Awkward Flirting, Because it's hilarious, Bird courtship rituals, Birds, Conlang, Constructed Language, Dimension Travel, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Isekai, Long-Term Relationship(s), Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow To Update, Spirit Guides, Worldbuilding, puns, self-indulgent headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abalisk/pseuds/Abalisk
Summary: When her world went up in smoke and flames, Juniper Wilde finds herself trapped between the pages of dreams and reality, swept away to a world of vast oceans and unspeakable dangers. Reeling from the difference, Juniper tries to adjust to this new life with the help of her rather dashing pirate companion and maybe find a way home in the process.But sometimes we must fall before we fly.
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Original Character(s), Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 112
Collections: Time Travel and World Travel





	1. Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> I do not consent to this work or any of my work being uploaded or displayed through third party apps and websites. If you are viewing this work through an app that makes money from advertisements, please close the app and view my work for free on the original Ao3 page.

Skies split apart with a blinding flash, lightning forking across the frothing heavens in a serpentine dance—vanishing at a blink with a roar of thunder. Gale winds lashed in vengeance, swelling massive waves that tossed them about like a cork in a maelstrom, the vast sea an endless scape of turmoil and chaos.

Chest heaving, Juniper clung to the mast like it was a lifeline, her back pressed so hard against the wood she may as well have melded to it. Hopelessness sank like a stone in her stomach, her eyes wide as she gazed at the storm, her throat tight in fear.

“—me… at me! Hey!” Blue eyes crossed her vision and Juniper was forced to focus on those fiery pools. Calloused hands cradled her face in a firm yet gentle hold, reaffirming that all her attention remained on him and him alone. “Look at me. It’ll be okay, just trust me.”

The mast lurched violently, making him grunt and Juniper shout as the whole ship canted dangerously to the side, dangling them out over the water. Juniper gasped, fingers pulling trenches in the trunk beneath her, not daring for even a moment to shift her weight, lest she slip and fall into the swirling depths below.

“Do I have a choice?!” she cried, near breathless in the din.

Those brilliant eyes met her own again, fearless and determined, one of his arms braced above her head. “There’s always a choice,” he said, the words nearly damning in their finality. His brows narrowed further, eyes briefly darting to the waves before snapping back to her own. “We have to jump.”

She opened her mouth, gobsmacked. “You’re mad—“

“Phoenix!” A familiar cry cut through the air, making Juniper’s heart go still. Her companion’s expression darkened, turning to glance over his shoulder, his body tensing. “I’ll get you for this, Phoenix!” Arsenne continued, his voice ragged and drawing closer, “You’ve ruined me! Both of you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you _ and _ that little harlot!”

Juniper gripped the lapels of his jacket, bringing his attention back to her, heart beating a heavy staccato in her ears. Something in her expression must have spoken to him, because his hardened face softened minutely.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, drawing her into his embrace, entwining about her torso. Juniper looped her arms around his neck, the feeling of dread palpable even at his crooning words. “Just think of it like floating,” he said, voice hypnotic against her ear, breath buzzing on her skin. “Close your eyes and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Floating… r-right,” she breathed, closing her eyes and blocking out that awful captain’s voice, her face resting against the man’s collarbone; placing her trust in his confidence.

“Everything will be okay,” he murmured, cradling her head, fingers entwining in her hair, “Just trust me one more time.”

“Don’t—don’t you dare!” Arsenne cried, frantic. He sounded afraid. “Don’t leave me here!”

“You made your choice.” She heard him say coldly, his grip on her tightened.

Her world tilted, a final gasp on a knife’s edge.

And they fell.

xXx

_ And how, one might wonder, did it come to this? _

_ First, let me tell you a tale, of a distant land far, far away— _

_ And the woman with raven hair trying to save one small piece of it... _

xXx

Sunlight, harsh and bright, lanced through the overwhelming smog, searing in its intensity despite the present shadows of morning. Heat was already beginning its steady climb, the grasses of once manicured lawns having long wilted under the assault, dyeing the land in fields of brown.

Fingers threading through the curly tangle of her hair, Juniper Wilde sighed, slapping her hand back on the steering wheel, giving the clogged road before her an arching look. It wasn’t even midday and already the traffic was atrocious. She’d been sitting in the same spot, inching along at a snail’s crawl for fifteen minutes, and her exit was literally  _ right in front of her _ . A small, rebellious part that she normally quelled was tempted to take the shoulder just to get it over with.

But she could see that state patrolman in her rear-view mirror. There was no way in hell he’d let that pass.

So she sat. The persistent buzz of her air conditioning driving her mad.

Her radio crackled to life at the turn of a dial, having finally become fed up with the silence, the not-so-dulcet tones of the weather report filling the cab in an exuberant squawk.  _ “—sunny skies for the remainder of the week—it’s gonna be hot hot hot! With temperatures rising to the triple digits and—” _

“You’ve got to be joking.” Juniper groaned, the meteorologist continuing his awfully enthusiastic spiel in the background, fingers flexing over the steering wheel as she budged up another few inches in the line. “Triple digits—might as well kill me at this rate,” she grumbled, listening with half an ear as the weatherman passed off the rest of the report to the more serious news anchor, her voice grave.

_ “Fire warnings have been issued in the surrounding five counties in response to weather projections, with the Forest Bureau issuing bans for the entire State to prevent further incidents. The Fire Chief General urges everyone to remain indoors as the Scholl’s Ridge fire rages in the north-east and to limit any necessary outdoor exposure—” _

She worried her bottom lip at that, eyeing the blood red of the morning sky and the conspicuous haze that shrouded every corner, obscuring the vehicles further down the highway. Evacuations had already been issued for several of the nearest towns in response to the growing forest fire, the sound of helicopters a near constant as fire crews and National Guard worked endless hours to quell the flames. People were calling it the worst fire in history and Juniper was inclined to agree.

It was almost unheard of for entire cities to evacuate, but now it seemed the times were changing. Homes, small towns, and thousands of acres had already been consumed in the blaze. Would her city be next?

It was looking more and more likely by the day.

Lips pressing thinly into a line, Juniper let out a blustering sigh of relief as the line finally moved close enough for the car in front of her to take the exit, allowing her to dip out of the crush as well. The streets on this side of town were eerily barren, the local residents taking heed of the warnings and shuttering themselves indoors or having long fled, joining the masses on the highway. Those that  _ were _ outside wore masks to filter out the particulates, but even their time of exposure remained low, their strides swift and purposeful.

Juniper drove by it all, her hands guiding the wheel through the streets with a troubled pinch of her brow, the first destination of her day soon coming into sight.

Ted Friars was a local market that had been around for as long as the street it was situated on had been constructed. It’d survived despite the steady march of time, family feuds, and contesting corporations. Even the town surrounding it had been turned into a suburb for the nearest developing city, its township being subsumed by the larger entity like an amoeba.

Yet, the little market endured. And it was here that Juniper rolled in and parked, noting the visible absence of activity in its normally bustling parking lot.

She slipped on her respirator mask before opening the car door, conscious of the warnings issued about breathing the air, and hopped out, instantly feeling smothered by the heat. Her dress swished about her legs as she quickly made her way to the entrance, the material billowing lazily in the wind. The automatic doors had been deactivated to prevent most of the toxic air from penetrating the interior, and Juniper was all too happy to shove the door closed behind her, making sure it sealed shut with a hydraulic hiss.

Removing her mask and smelling the fresh scent of produce was almost heavenly, and Juniper sucked in great lungfuls of it, having smelled nothing but smoke for weeks.

It brought her home.

“Juney! Good mornin’ to ya!” a raucous voice called across the store, eliciting a fond smile on her lips.

“Miss Carly,” Juniper greeted, pocketing her mask and turning to stride with purpose to the deli counter, bypassing the delicious smells of fruit and vegetable produce, her boot heels clicking on the linoleum, “How are you this fine morning?”

“Fine my ass,” Carly began a little archly, already gathering the fixings for Juniper’s lunch, knowing the routine well enough, as she always came for the Monthly Special, “But doing alright, considering the circumstances. My Jenni can’t go to school for the foreseeable future, since that damned fire’s fartin’ out smoke left and right. They closed it down until the air clears—whenever the hell that’ll be.”

“You don’t think we’ll have to evacuate, do you?” Juniper asked with a frown, good mood at seeing the friendly woman vanishing just as quickly as it came, wringing her hands nervously. Thoughts twisted in abject horror at the idea that her books—her  _ home _ —were in imminent danger. “The highway is in complete disarray and so many have left already. Is it not contained?”

Carly waved her knife hand dismissively, the blade glinting wickedly with the leavings of mayonnaise. “Girl, I couldn’t tell you anything you don’t know already. The only thing between us and that damned inferno is a stiff breeze. We’re  _ literally _ playin’ with fire here. I swore I heard some explosions last night, so the demo crew has got to be doing  _ somethin’ _ to stop the spread, but if it jumps the line…” She gave a helpless shake of her head, her expression falling into something close to grief, shoulders shrugging. “I already sent Ma off to visit relatives in Michigan. She wasn’t doin’ well with the smoke.”

Juniper reached across the counter, giving the older woman’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She didn’t dare utter any platitudes, knowing that it was entirely within the realm of possibility that they’d be lies. No one knew what tomorrow would bring, but the terror of its worst outcome hovered like a guillotine above them all, breaths collectively held.

So it was with a heavy heart that Juniper and Carly parted ways, the aggrieved shop owner insisting on filling a cooler full of supplies for free, “Just in case,” throwing in a bag of ice for good measure. Carly made her swear to visit the next day, “Because the world’s going tits up and I’d rather have the hope of seeing a friendly face.”

It was impossible to say no to that.

Her drive to the library was relatively uneventful and bleak, only having to pull over a couple of times as an ambulance or military vehicle barrelled down the road, sirens blaring. A sadly common sight in more recent days. Numerous house windows stared like empty eye sockets, the interiors dark and cars missing from driveways. The park was also eerily devoid of activity, the energized bustle of dogs, their owners, and stray children silent, with the only presence that lingered being the white smoke that hovered threateningly over the grounds.

Juniper wasted no time in getting inside. No one was waiting for her at the entrance, which made her heart give a painful little twinge. She hoped Mister Thomas was alright, he always was there to greet her with his shopping cart and bag of cans—she fervently hoped he’d hitched a ride with the shelter convoy along with everyone else, especially with his lungs.

The foyer echoed with the closing click of the door, the cavernous archways reverberating the sound like a hollow theatre. Juniper numbly flipped on the lights, her eyes taking in what was left of the neat and orderly rows.

She’d been the only one to remain behind, carefully recording each and every book in solitude as she sequestered them in the confines of the basement, in hopes that if the worst were to happen, that at least the collection would be safe under several tons of concrete. The building itself used to belong to an old church, but when the congregation dissolved into obscurity, the City was all too happy to allow the local library to bloom within its elegant walls, making the place feel like it was cut right out of a fairytale.

But now, it was almost packed up. Great sheets, to dissuade dust from landing, had been draped over most of the surfaces, standing by like ghostly sentinels across the sanctuary, the upper levels a maze of white and fluttering fabric. The building was old. There were no illusions that it would remain if the fire did reach here, and all her work—her home away from that dingy apartment in the suburbs—would be gone.

She gazed up at the rose window with watery eyes, stained glass casting a rainbow mosaic of color and angels at her feet, dust particles dancing among the light shafts. 

Juniper had never really been religious...

But still she prayed.

xXx

_ And yet their ears are as dull as their titles lofty, _

_ The winds of vanity are deafening at the top of the world. _

xXx

It wasn’t until the last rays of the setting sun dyed the sky an ominous burgundy, that Juniper placed the final tome among its brethren, the deep shadows of the basement giving her a sense of ease at their safety.

She tried very hard not to think of it as a crypt. Despite the fact that is indeed what it was.

Stacks upon stacks of books rested upon raised pallets, keeping their precious cargo off the floor in case of flooding. She’d meticulously wrapped every one of them in plastic, tying off the top to make a proper seal. She was hot and sweating, but still felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment at her work.

Juniper also felt a bit sick, but that was probably the grief, and the hunger.

She hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Giving one last inspection just because, Juniper made a circle around her handiwork. Checking corners and seams. Her fingers brushing over plastic. It wasn’t until after she made yet another circuit (just in case) that she finally ascended to the ground floor, leaving the looming darkness behind. She closed the door with an audible  _ clank _ , the lock sliding into place with an air of finality, the handle cool under her hand.

Yet, she lingered, like a spectre to a loved one, the metal beneath her hand warming to her touch. Everything felt so surreal, like a nightmare she had no escape from. Logically, she knew she was simply undergoing a stage of grief, denying the reality for what it was, but her mind clung to it none-the-less, tormenting itself in passive assurances that everything will be fine.

It wasn’t. But she daydreamed anyway.

With pained reluctance she withdrew, the departure slow and aching as she stepped away. Her sight turned to liquid, and she blinked to allow the fat tears to fall, trailing lines down her cheeks.

She sniffed.

And walked away, the click of her bootheels cacophonous in the silence, only the echoes of ghosts lingering to hear her. She swept past the rows of shrouded shelves, her lips tightening with every step as she made her way to the checkout counter, the hollow clawing in her chest growing worse with every passing row.

She clambered into her station, like she’d always done for the past ten years, the comfort of her office chair finally breaking the dam. A muffled sob shattered her defenses, the walls she’d painstakingly crafted since this disaster began crumbling into dust, the emptiness of the halls crying out to her. She took off her glasses with shaking fingers, wiping at her eyes and feeling as her heart tore itself to pieces.

It felt like the end of something wonderful and Juniper didn’t even want to think about what the rebirth would be. She could almost see it in her mind, the ashes and the desolation. She’d seen it plenty of times on news sources across the globe and throughout humanity’s bloody history. It was a sight she never imagined in her wildest dreams that would reach her.

And yet they sat dangling on the edge of the eleventh hour, the flames at their door.

Juniper took a shuddering breath.

Her stomach pinched painfully, reminding her that her attention was needed elsewhere. She composed herself as best as she could with a few deep breaths, drying her eyes and slipping her glasses back on, the lump in her throat nearly suffocating. 

She stood to attend to her needs, making her way to the icebox Miss Carley had so lovingly packed for her. She’d dragged it inside with the intention of using some of it for lunch, but it had slipped her mind when she became too engrossed in her work.

It was an old habit she was having difficulty breaking.

Juniper picked out a modest meal from the selection, though her lack of preparatory tools prevented her from going too extravagant. Pita bread and hummus were as simple as one could get, along with a package of local blackberries to counter the bland flavor of the beans and bread. 

She figured this would be easy enough on her roiling stomach, at least to start.

The silence, as she ate her meal, felt hollow and deafening.

Libraries, while they were  _ supposed _ to be quiet, still held a subtle buzz of activity about them. Whether it was a study group discussing literature or simply the sound of a page turning, there was always  _ some _ noise—even if it was muted. It was why the library had always felt like a world apart from the outside, it’s cloister nothing at all like the rampant bustling of the outer world.

But this silence—This stillness was encompassing. Absolute. A complete absence of sound.

It was disquieting.

Juniper swallowed, the tart flavor of a berry slowly dissolving on her tongue, her hands already robotically going through the motions of tearing her next slice of pita bread, staring blankly at the empty halls.

Rinse. Repeat.

Back and forth.

Numb.

Silence.

Repeat.

_ Crunch—  _

Juniper made a face, pulling what remained of the blackberry she’d bitten into away from her mouth. Her appetite, or what little had been present, now long lost. 

Berries weren’t supposed to crunch.

A strange swirling pattern met her gaze, the individual fruits of the berry were shaped like curling teardrops and shimmered gold like the setting sun. It was only slightly bigger than the others, which was why she hadn’t noticed it at first.

Then the flavor hit her and Juniper choked, hand involuntarily slapping over her mouth despite her willing— _ pleading _ with herself to spit the thing out. Its texture revoltingly similar to cartilage and hair—the flavor akin to tar and battery acid. Tears dripped down her face as her mouth itched, then burned, liquid fire dripping down her open throat as it simply…

Slipped.

_ Back _ .

She swallowed it.

Gasping for air, Juniper braced her hands on the desk, her nails digging into the wood finish as she stared wide-eyed at the pages of a brochure, unseeing as she wondered what the hell just happened. She scrambled for the garbage can, coughing and spitting as she tried to get that flavor out of her mouth, her fingers diving into her throat to induce vomiting, because whatever the  _ hell _ that was she didn’t want it in her body.

Nothing but bile and saliva came up, and Juniper wheezed desperately, hands shaking as they gripped the rim of the basket. 

She needed to call someone. 911. Poison Control—

A shocking heat scalded through her and Juniper couldn’t even muster the voice to scream. All her nerves felt like they were lit aflame, searing like a brand beneath her flesh, lights erupting behind her eyes.

Distantly, sirens wailed.

“ _ ATTENTION. ATTENTION. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. EVACUATION ORDERS INITIATED TO LEVEL THREE. ALL OCCUPANTS ARE REQUIRED TO VACATE THE IMMEDIATE AREA. ALL PERSONNEL— _ ”

She tumbled, the chair toppling to the floor. The air was thick and she gasped, fingers scrabbling on the carpet as she tried to drag herself to where she knew the nearest phone sat, blind in her struggle. 

“ _ —ADVISED TO FOLLOW PREDESIGNATED ROUTES. PERIMETER ROADBLOCKS HAVE BEEN ESTABLISHED— _ ”

Juniper shouted, shaking as new pain ripped through her, a loud howling in her ears drowning out the announcement. Heat. Like fire. Like ice.

It burned.

She was burning.

“ _ —I REPEAT— _ ”

Her life.

Her home.

_ It’s all— _

The world compressed with an overwhelming roar, winking away in a clap of thunder.

xXx

_ Gone.  _

xXx

_ Plunged into darkness, she was swallowed whole. _

_ The stillness as vast as the space between stars. _

_ A gasp escaped her, the frail sound echoing like a cavern, snatched away by the yawning abyss. She was falling, her form tumbling through the endless dark, dress billowing about in a formless breeze. Her arms reached out, a futile effort to grab something—anything—to halt her descent, her hand pale and washed out in direct disparity to the blackness. _

_ She shouted in despair, but her voice was consumed as soon as it left her lips, leaving her in silent freefall. Terror gripping her throat as she twirled, calling out for someone—anyone! _

_ The darkness was all encompassing. Absolute. A bottomless void. _

_ But as if in answer, a streak of light flashed past her, bright and luminous and flaming like a falling star.  _

_ It was followed by another, and yet another.  _

_ More beams of light streaked around her falling form, fluttering and sparking and spinning in space. _

_ They were birds. _

_ Singing to her in silent voices, their song was not heard with her ears, but heard none-the-less, trilling and cooing and warbling in joy. “Fly!” They chorused, brushing around her legs and pirouetting around her outstretched arms, “You’re here! Here! Fly! Hello! You’re here! Hi!” _

_ It was like being surrounded by a crowd of children, their little talons tugging on her dress as they egged her on. They spun with her through the darkness, banishing it away with their beauteous light, scattering it like the rainbow refractions of a clear crystal in the sun, laughing and singing all the way. _

_ Their joy was contagious and she laughed with them despite the terror, horizons shifting and bisecting through the gloom and growing more defined. Suns rose and set with the urgency of a sped up film, flipping past so quickly that she had to close her eyes, the sight dizzying. _

_ They wanted her to fly… but how? _

_ “Hurry! Hurry! Fly! Hello? Fall?” They sang, more insistent now, an almost concerned urgency in their tones; like they didn’t understand why she wasn’t doing what they wanted. “Broken?” _

_ A pause rippled through the flock as they seemed to consider this. _

_ Then they vanished like a spray of embers. _

_ She tried calling them back, but something thrummed through the remaining dark, exploding her sight in a wash of pure white. A pained cry erupted from her throat as massive talons encircled her body, her spine bursting in agony. _

_ A fluttering of wings filled the air. _

xXx

_ Blue. _

_ Like water... _

xXx

Juniper snapped awake, breath catching as her heart thundered wildly in her chest.

It was not the familiar vaulting of the church ceiling that greeted her, but a different one—an unfamiliar one—criss-crossed with thick beams of dark wood and what looked like white filigreed stucco. Juniper blinked in confusion, squinting to stare blearily at the carved plaster, her mind still whirling over her bizarre dream that she couldn’t quite recall.

Just the feeling of falling...

She stuck her glasses to her face, the lenses blessedly still attached to the delicate chain around her neck, and blinked at what she saw.

Perhaps she was still dreaming, because the room she’d found herself in was right out of a history text.

Opulence was an understatement, as every surface had been carved and polished with obsessive consideration, not a speck of dust to be found. Gold-leafing shimmered along the carvings of chairs and cabinet doors, speaking of a person who at the very least loved the idea of luxury. Even the silken bedsheets surrounding her did little to dissuade this notion.

She pinched herself.

It  _ hurt. _

_ That’s not a good sign, _ Juniper thought, rubbing at the reddening flesh.

So she sat up, still dumbfounded but determined to figure things out, throwing off the feather comforter and allowing her legs to dangle over the edge of the bed, bare toes inching to the floor. Her boots lay nearby, socks meticulously folded over them which only added to the neurotic vibes of the room’s owner. 

Something however, brushed her hair when she bent to grab them and she let out a muffled shriek of surprise, jumping away and whipping around.

A loud  _ whump _ cut through the air, and a few fancy displays scattered as the thing moved with her, the baubles clattering and crashing to the floor. She stiffened at the noise, feeling strange, like an extension of herself was reaching out, and Juniper followed the shadow with her eyes.

She blinked. Hard. Scrubbing at her eyelids just to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

Feathers met her gaze, a wing bending out and around her like a protective veil, black as night and shivering with every breath. Juniper’s breathing quickened, a panic building in her chest as she turned to see that there indeed was another one, its twin on her other side. She reached back, tentatively, her fingertips touching to where she knew her scapula was, only to be met with fine down.

_ Wings… I have wings, _ she thought, incredulous, retracting her hand and allowing it to fall to her side. Knees growing weak, she slunk down to the floor, rear plopping down between her ankles. Her new wings draped around her body, meeting her bent knees as they too weakly flopped to the floor.

What in the world was  _ happening? _

_ This can’t be real. _

Juniper tried to remember how she got here, racking her brain for recollection of the event, but all she could recall was the awful taste of that gold berry, incredible pain, and darkness. No notions of how she arrived in this room came to mind, which brought on the terrifying conclusion that someone had  _ found _ her unconscious.

She patted herself down, searching… 

Her keys and wallet were conspicuously missing.

Casting her eyes about in an effort to find her lost articles, Juniper realized upon eyeing the room at large that she wasn’t going to find a damn thing among the heaps of glittering clutter.

She turned to look at the only door, its beautifully carved surface ominous to her eyes, a quiet promise that once she opened it, there was no going back.

She was going to have to go  _ outside. _

Swallowing nervously, she stood, bare toes feeling the grooves of the polished floorboards—reminding Juniper that shoes were usually a desired article on any venture. She grabbed up her socks, slipping them on before quickly donning her boots, glad for her foresight in considering ankle protection and the low heels.

_ There’s no knowing what could be out there, _ she rationalized, tightening the laces with a firm jerk of her hands,  _ Running might be a necessity. _

Her new wings proved to be a nuisance and difficult to ignore, throwing off her balance as her attention was split between lacing up her boots and keeping the extra limbs organized. She caught herself tipping a few times, the wings unwieldy and bulky, forcing her to brace them on the floor around her so their extra weight wouldn’t impede her efforts.

She couldn’t even begin to guess how to use the damned things. They were  _ heavy _ . 

Finally satisfied with the state of her footwear, Juniper straightened up and faced the door. Noting, with no small amount of trepidation, that the figures carved into it displayed a battle both demonic and angelic, the minute details of wings and fangs showing just how dedicated the artist had been to their craft.

It was ominous.

With an aching hesitancy that brought sweat to her palms, Juniper reached for the knob, it’s surface moulded into the likeness of a spider lily. She turned the device, it’s internal mechanisms loud as they ratcheted like the gears of a clock, a metallic  _ click _ echoing through the room once it reached the end. The door bore some weight, so it was with a modicum of effort that Juniper had to heave it open just a crack.

Chill wind filtered in from the outside, crisp and cold, billowing the fabric of her dress with naught but a whisper. The light from outside was muted, a dense fog casting the world in a pale blue haze and shrouding the deck beyond.

She was on a  _ ship _ .

Certainly, she had suspected before—what with the obvious layout of the cabin—but to be actually faced with the truth left Juniper feeling a bit daunted.  _ Just how in the world did I get here?  _ she wondered, slowly inching her head, then shoulders out from behind the door’s solid protection. Juniper could hear the steady creak of yard lines above as she tentatively took a step outside, a steadying hand allowing her to brace against the cabin wall. 

It appeared to be early morning, not a soul in sight, likely all resting in the decks below. The quiet groan of the ship was almost cacophonous to the gentle sounds of water lapping against the hull. The waves casually rolled the ship to it’s whims and made it dip and tilt to the rhythm, the steady sway an almost sickening motion that did little to assuage her nerves.

Juniper breathed deeply, sucking in the saline air and attempted to calm her racing heart and nausea. She didn’t usually get motion sick, but the shock of  _ everything _ right now didn’t do her constitution any favors. She was on a ship, an 18th century sailing vessel it looked like, at an unknown location in the middle of nowhere.

She was entirely within her rights to be panicking.

But instead, she took several more calming breaths, centering herself—blind panic wouldn’t do her any good, she needed to have a clear head for whatever was to come.

Her new appendages dragged behind her like the train of a ball gown, gently whispering as the feathers swept across the floorboards. Juniper stepped lightly, not wanting her boot heels to make too much noise as she ventured toward the port side of the ship, a small flutter of hope in her chest that maybe… just maybe, they were docked near land.

She was sorely disappointed. Only open water greeted her gaze.

Juniper quietly fretted over her next step, pacing the length of the ship’s railing in a nervous daze. Clearly, her mysterious benefactor had her comfort at heart, if the manner at which she awoke was any indication; as they very well could have simply thrown her in a cell. However, their  _ intentions _ were what concerned her the most, as 18th century sailors were not exactly known to having the best historical record when it came to hospitality. 

Gnawing on the end of her thumbnail, Juniper stopped her frantic pacing, feeling rather ill all of a sudden. The black down of her new wings provided some modicum of comfort as they hugged around her shivering body, warming her against the chilled air.

Just what was she supposed to do?

A door slammed open behind her, effectively snapping her out of her musings and just about making her leap out of her skin. She jerked around, wide-eyed, with her heart pounding in her ears and her new feathers prickling in alarm, leaning against the railing like she was willing herself to melt into it.

An opulent man strode on deck from the opposite side she’d come from, his visage intimidatingly beautiful. His indomitable gaze zeroed in on her position with the precision of a hawk, the aquiline construction of his nose completing the image. For a moment, their eyes met, his stare intense and uncomfortable. 

Searing.

A fire she found no warmth in and left her chilled to the bone.

After a moment, his expression softened into something simpering, like one does when meeting a cute animal or baby for the first time, greeting her with words she couldn’t comprehend. He spoke smooth and elegantly with an inflection that reminded her vaguely of the romance languages, but was just enough adjacent to be not quite the same. He was as beautiful and extravagant as the room she awoke in, his ears endowed with glittering rings that twinkled in the dim light, his long curling locks the color of spun gold beneath the ivory white of a feathered tricorn.

Obviously, he was the one in charge.

_ I have to be dreaming, _ Juniper thought, baffled at the period costume and taking in its intricate detail. It was too much, too surreal; the ship, the wings, the man before her… she needed to get out of here. She needed to get  _ home. _

_ But how? Where would I even begin? _

His stare had intensified during her daze, clearly misinterpreting her vacant ogling to mean something else, and Juniper recoiled as he seemed to take this as some unspoken permission, treading into her space and murmuring something that sounded far too intimate in the tone he was using.

He was  _ too close _ .

She shook her head, quickly stepping aside so he couldn’t loom over her, the wings rising up between them in defense. “No. Don’t come closer. I don’t understand you,” Juniper ordered in the most stern voice she could, making him freeze in his tracks and noting, with a bit of a startled realization, that the color of his irises were magenta. She kept her surprise to herself, not wanting to give the man the inch he already seemed inclined to take.

“A’me~” the man began, backing away and placing a hand on his chest dramatically, his accent thick, “You speak Lynian, _of course!_ Please excuse mine rudeness, darling—So lost was I in beauty, I forget myself.” He bowed with a flourish, his earrings clinking together like the tinkling of little bells. “Mine name is Jacques Arsenne, Capitaino of the _Bele Alphonsa_. It brings great happiness to see you well, Madama _._ I trust you slept well?”

“It was… fine,” Juniper supplied cautiously, a little thrown by his display and still suspicious of his intentions. She didn’t trust that they were pure, not with how he’d loomed over her earlier. But considering how limited her options were at the moment, Juniper didn’t think she could afford to be choosy.

She could play nice. For now.

“Where exactly am I, Captain?” She asked, eyes darting when she noticed movement in the fog, tensing when she saw other men beginning to bustle about. They appeared to be busy, towing ropes and climbing lines as they prepared the ship for sail, their eyes shadowed and a bit too wide as they glanced at her.

Juniper quickly turned her gaze back to the captain, unease curling in her gut. 

There was something wrong.

“ _ Please _ , mine fraulou, call me Arsenne,” The captain urged, ushering her along with a gentle, but still rather forceful hand back in the direction of the cabin, his body blocking her sight of the other crewmen, “Such travels mean we are on given name basis, yes? The Grand Line not always so kind.”

_ Given name? But the first name he spoke was—ah, I see. The name order is surname first while the given name is second,  _ Juniper thought, as she nodded along to placate him, “I understand, Mister Arsenne.”

“And you, Madama?” Arsenne asked, and Juniper forced herself not to tense as she felt his hand flex against her lower back, his eyes too bright as he focused on her, “What shall I call you, little lebele?”

Jaw clenching, Juniper willed her expression not to change as she smiled vapidly, curling a finger through her hair to loop it over her ear. She was really getting sick of all these nicknames. “Oh, um… I’m Joan,” she said airily, hoping to God she wasn’t laying it on too thick as she blinked up at him in her best customer service face, “Thank you for rescuing me.”

She wasn’t certain why, but providing her real name just didn’t sit well with her.

“Joan!” he exclaimed, seemingly thrilled as he took one of her hands in both of his own, theatrical as he swooned. “A vunderbeau name for a vunderbeau fraulou! Like the great Joan D. Ark of mine homeland! O  _ Madama _ , mercei und mine heurz!” His sentences devolved into a series of praises that she couldn’t even begin to understand, the language slipping between what sounded like vague French interspersed with German.

_ Oh, damn it, they have their own Joan of Arc?! _ She despaired internally, still smiling along and feeling more uncomfortable the longer it dragged on.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he appeared to finish his fanboyish endorsements to her womanly virtues, his hands now clasped around her own and breathing deeply as he came down from his passionate frenzy. Several of his golden hairs were a bit out of place, and Juniper strongly resisted the brief urged that came forth to straighten them—or stranger still, pluck them out and hoard them somewhere.

Not exactly an impulse she wished to explore, Juniper struggled to find a topic to bring up, noting that they were standing once more in front of the opulent door. He still had her hands clutched tight, his own spindly fingers like a claw trap around her smaller fists. “Uhm—” she began, only to cut herself off as the man lifted his face to give her a smouldering leer, a look that surely made her feel naked before his gaze as he unclasped one of his hands to caress her jawline and cup her chin.

She withheld a scandalized shudder, the audacity of the action leaving her speechless and stirring up the burgeoning fear that had set itself into her stomach at the start of this encounter.

“A’me~ Such vunderbeau eyes,” Arsenne pronounced slowly, his thumb idly toying with her bottom lip and parting the flesh slightly. Juniper couldn’t resist the shiver this time, her wing feathers practically standing on end as he backed her up against the heavy door, thudding against the hardwood and leaving her nowhere to run. “I have great…  _ happiness _ for pretty little things.”

Juniper didn’t think for one second he meant “happiness” in the standard definition, not with the way his mouth curled around the word like a filthy suggestion, a heady promise of carnal acts. No. There was nothing chaste about this interaction, his hard grip on her jaw was practically bruising as he tilted her head back, forcing Juniper to crane her neck to his height.

His magenta eyes glinted eerily, the smile no longer kind. If the door hadn’t stopped her, Juniper definitely would have recoiled further as he leaned in and said, “That is a good look, Madama Joan. I would have you with this—”

“Capitano,” one of the crew interrupted, eliciting an absolutely venomous look on Arsenne’s face, the handsome facade shattering completely as his expression twisted into a hideous snarl. Juniper gladly ducked her chin out of his grasp, eyes wide and thankful that someone else was now taking the brunt of his attention; only feeling a little bad when she saw how even his own crewman recoiled from his intense stare.

_ No one is safe on this ship,  _ she mused, nursing her jaw as the captain abruptly withdrew from her space,  _ least of all his own crew. _

They spoke amongst themselves in their language, the volleys between their exchange going by so quick that Juniper couldn’t even begin to guess at what they were saying. But by how the man was standing though, and the stiff deference he gave despite the captain’s obvious displeasure at the interruption, Juniper surmised that it had to be a report of some kind.

An important one.

Their conversation ended all too soon. The crewman having been promptly dismissed with a disgusted look, Arsenne’s face contorted unpleasantly.

He rounded on her too quickly to think much of it, his voice back to that slimy tone that made her skin crawl. “Seems a storm comes, Madama Joan. I insist you retire to cabin, as it will be…  _ Quite  _ rough. Food and drink are waiting, as well a dress I would very like to see you wear.” He stroked her cheek then, a wicked grin on his lips.

“Until later,” he promised, before sweeping her inside and slamming the door with the finality of a coffin lid.

The lock latched.

And Juniper, with her feathers prickling and practically all the hair on her body standing on end, promptly marched over to the bed, picked up the pillow, and screamed into it.

This was  _ not  _ happening!

It was bad enough that she’d eaten something disgusting and been whisked away in the same breath, but to find herself in the clutches of a perverse narcissist was certainly a new low to an already shit day. 

Humiliation burned in her chest, still able to feel that—that  _ man’s _ disgusting fingers against her skin, desperation and revulsion twisting in her gut at the mere thought. She scrubbed at her face with her hands, trying to rid herself of his touch. She felt trapped. Backed into a corner with no means to escape. A veritable bird in a cage.

For a moment, Juniper saw red.

She was no canary.

In a fit of incandescent rage, Juniper swept her hands, pillow and all, over the nearest overburdened table. Plates and jewelry scattered to the floor in a cacophonous clatter that was backed by the roar of thunder. She screamed, a wrathful knell that tore through her throat before raising her new wings like the worlds most feathery bludgeons and slamming them into every glass surface she could find. The limbs were heavy, which was perfect for the task at hand. The power behind each swing splintered wooden frames and shattered ceramic, black feathers flying free as she utterly wrecked everything within her path.

Glass and broken wood crashed to the floor, Juniper ripping them open with a fury she’d never felt in her life. She was sick of this. Sick of being treated like a limp doll with no will of her own. Her home. Her library. Her _life._ Did she have no choice in this? What had she done to deserve this fate?

Juniper, in her rampage, barely caught a glimpse of the dress that horrid captain had practically ordered her to wear. Red. Flimsy. Hardly proper in polite society. She ripped it apart, shredding the lace and bisecting every seam of the corset with her talons— 

She froze.

Razor sharp and as black as obsidian shards, long curling claws several inches long greeted her gaze through the frayed remains of the dress. Chest heaving, Juniper breathed heavily in stunned silence, the roar of the storm outside sounding distant even as the floor began to rock beneath her. 

Her vision liquified once more, the black talons fading into an abstract blur that shifted slowly back into pink flesh, the skin around her fingertips raw and bleeding a little from her frantic destruction. 

“What is—” Juniper choked, the words cutting off as her throat quivered with a sob, the tears that had been dammed up finally releasing their floodgates as they dripped warmly down her cheeks, “Oh, God… What is  _ happening _ to me?”

Was she some kind of monster now? What had that berry done to her? This was more than just a pair of deadweight wings she had no control over. Something had fundamentally changed with her entire biology and she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do. Juniper was frightened beyond anything she’d ever felt, more than the clutching fear of losing her home and livelihood. No. This…  _ This _ was absolute terror.

What was going to become of her?

Unable to hold back any longer, Juniper dropped her face into her palms and wept. Her soul wrenching cries were loud in the solitude of her formerly pretty prison, her legs growing weak as she sunk to the floor, shards of porcelain and woodchips digging into her knees. Her wings ached, feathers now in complete disarray from her careless battering, little droplets of blood sloughing off some of the more sleek plumes and dripping to the floor.

Thunder roared overhead.

_ What am I supposed to do? _ Juniper pleaded, not sure who she should be beseeching, her hands shaking with both emotion and pain, “Someone… Please.”

_ “Hello?” _

Juniper jerked out of her palms with a strangled gasp, stinging eyes darting around the room. She knew that voice—Or at least, thought she knew. It felt familiar, like the vague semblance of a dream after waking, niggling at the far corners of her mind with a frustration that begged her to remember. 

But still, no matter how hard she tried, the memory eluded her.

“Who’s there?” she called, carefully rising to stand, wincing as her knees resettled from their uneven position among the debris. 

No response.

Warily, Juniper crossed the distance to the captain’s desk, where she was certain the sound had originated, her boots occasionally crunching upon glass fragments. She looked around, idly sniffling and wiping at her eyes, trying to regains some semblance of composure as her unease made way for curiosity. Though she wasn’t certain as to why, she did not feel at all threatened by the strange voice.

It was actually rather comforting.

_ “Here.” _

Juniper snapped her head around, convinced that she’d just seen something in her periphery. Something white and small, with the voice of a child. But she couldn’t be sure as once again she didn’t hear it speak with her ears. It was like the voice was directly inserting itself into her mind, ringing with perfect clarity.

She saw a small puff of fluffy down flutter precariously on the edge of the desk, the white feather strangely luminous against the wood—almost ethereal. Juniper made her way around the side of the desk just as the feather dropped out of sight, and when she fully rounded to where she thought it had fallen, it was not to be found.

Instead, there sat an opulent drawer and a small keyhole.

Outside, the wind began howling.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Juniper quoted with another sniff, wiping at her face to clear the last vestiges of her tears, a somewhat small thrill of excitement pulsing through her at the prospects of a mystery, “I wonder what you’re hiding here?”

Because at the very least, she could use a distraction right now.

She cast her eyes about for something thin and metallic, feeling rather impish now that she’d found something interesting. After a moment of careful searching, overturning papers and cracking open snuff boxes, Juniper found what she was looking for among the various ornate calligraphy pens.

What she found was a beautifully decorated hair needle, that was about twice the length of her forefinger and thin enough for her purposes. The needle itself was composed of a slate grey material at the point, making it appear rather sword-like as it eventually made way for gold filigree. The intricate metal twined about like a pair of snakes, until it ended at an array of jewelled peacock feathers, a delicate chain of baubles trailing at its end.

While she took a moment to admire the specimen in her hand, curiosity over what was contained in the drawer eventually dragged her attention away from the sparkly adornment, and she snatched up a decidedly less adorned pin for the next part.

In no time at all, Juniper had picked the lock and snapped the drawer open, pleasantly surprised to find her missing articles next to a conspicuous ring of keys.

Juniper’s brow furrowed, pocketing her own keys and wallet in their proper places before taking up the ring.  _ Strange, _ she thought, eyeing the similar looking keys with just a hint of trepidation,  _ Why would these be locked away? _

_ “Hey.” _

She looked up.

White feathers rained before a blank wall. A wall so conspicuously blank, Juniper wondered how she’d never noticed it. Striding from her place at the desk, having found what she supposed she was meant to find, Juniper made her way over.

The sound of footfalls and shouting overhead were the last warning before the storm hit in full force.

She felt the floor shift under her feet, her center of gravity changing as a horrid wind roared outside. Thunder clashed and lightning strobed through the opulent back windows, the sea an undulating torrent that rose as high as mountains before dipping down into cavernous valleys. They rode the whims of the ocean, bobbing like a cork in a maelstrom.

However, Juniper didn’t quite give a damn about all that.

Because the moment her hand brushed against a strangely worn piece of moulding along the wall, something clicked against her fingertips and the whole strip descended like a lever.

And the wall opened to a yawning void.

xXx

_ And like Alice in her Wonderland,  _

_ Down the rabbit hole she went, _

_ Never to wonder how she was to get out again. _


	2. Phoenix Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Become the bird man.
> 
> Also translation notes are at the bottom of the page~

Marco could do nothing but listen as the cavernous hull groaned and creaked like a dying beast all around him and without. Old joints and unmaintained sealant tentatively keeping the ever-present weight of the ocean at bay as it surged outside the wooden walls. 

_Kind of._

How exactly this rickety tub hadn’t sunk yet, he didn’t have a clue. There had been several gaps between the boards that he could pick out when he’d been initially tossed down here, neglect having left the resin to peel and splinter. The sound of water trickling indicated that there was certainly a leak somewhere and he could occasionally feel it sloshing around his toes.

Not that he’d be able to do anything about it, in light of recent circumstances.

Trussed up like a plucked duck with only himself as entertainment certainly wasn’t his preference when it came to imprisonment, but he supposed he had it coming with how he’d handled the last exchange. Got too arrogant; let his nigh invincibility get to his head. 

And now he was here, slapped into a seastone harness and whiling his time away trying to count the grains of his cell’s floorboards.

Figuratively, of course, since no one had deigned to grant him the boon of even their most shitty lanterns.

“Ach, cazodi ignii,” he cursed in his mother tongue, lolling his head around to smack it against the cell wall. He’d really screwed the pooch this time; his brothers were never going to let him live this down. If he got out of here, that is.

It was bad enough he’d been blown off course when he was supposed to be making a supply run to Sabaody Archipelago for Yarukiman resin, but to be captured by a band of second-rate slavers _really_ took the icing off the cake. _Where the hell had they even obtained seastone nails? Who is their supplier? Where are they taking me if they’re sailing_ away _from Sabaody?_ He’d asked himself these questions several times now, and the only conclusion he could come to was that he was no closer to the answer and wouldn’t be any time soon.

_Damn, my body hurts..._

Marco sighed, the cut on his lip stinging as he exhaled; resisting the urge to lick at his dry lips as it would only burn the fresh laceration. That damned captain really hadn’t held back on the beating this morning, and Marco could only guess at what had put the man into such a mood, having sauntered in with a spring in his step and a hum in his throat. The gleeful expression on his face had certainly been unsettling, and there wasn’t a doubt in Marco’s mind that something quite awful was going to happen to someone in the near future if that sicko was practically dancing on his toes. 

The fresh whip wounds on his chest and the new tears in his clothes were a testament to Arsenne’s habits, exhibiting restraint on whatever new victim he had in mind by extracting his bloodlust on the older one. Marco didn’t doubt for a moment that once he grew tired of them that the next person would find themselves in his current predicament. 

It was really looking bleak; in the next few days he’d either be sold or dead and he wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it. Not as things stood.

Loud shouts from overhead and the abrupt canting of the ship’s angle, alerted Marco to the appearance of a storm. The sudden shifting of the hull jerked him forward in his jailing harness, making him grunt as the chains rang taut with a grind of metal. Now he hung, dangling off the wall like a human chandelier, several feet of chain driving into his various wounds at an agonizing degree. Gritting his teeth, Marco let out a hiss as he tried to take measured breaths, thankful for once that his captors had the foresight to keep his lead blessedly short. He sure didn’t fancy having a broken neck right now.

A feminine voice cursed somewhere to the left, startling him slightly. Muffled thumps and a squeak made him raise a brow as he heard something scrambling, though the telltale sounds of metallic clanking and horrid crunching were more confusing. That is, until a shaft of lamplight flooded a section of the hold and he saw a stray plate go careening across the brig and shatter against the opposing wall followed by several metallic objects embedding themselves into the wall.

_That can’t be good._

“Hope that wasn’t important,” he said aloud, only to squawk as the ship suddenly leveled out, slamming him back against the cell wall with a meaty thud. It hurt something fierce and he growled in annoyance, “ _Ow!_ ”

“Ah! W-who’s there?” the voice hissed in accented Lynian, the uncertain edge belying their stern follow-up, “I’m armed!”

 _Unconvincing… But I would hope so,_ Marco thought with a grimace, furrowing his brows as he considered this strange circumstance. He didn’t remember there being a woman on board. Had they stopped somewhere at some point? He sure as hell didn’t remember hearing anything other than the ocean as they had been sailing for days now. Out loud, he said, “Well that’s good, cuz I’m not and I can’t exactly help if our mutual friends become… Significantly less friendly, yoi.”

It was after a moment of silence—long enough to wonder if he’d scared the lady off—that he glimpsed the faint lantern’s glow move, tottering closer toward his cell. His eyes watered at the abruptness of the light, but was able to finally see the source, a head of mussed black hair poking around the corner like a seahog.

A single grey eye blinked up at him from behind the rim of spectacles. Almost shyly.

 _Oh… Cute,_ he cooed internally, restraining himself from making his thought external in the event that it would only freak her out. Though considering the way both of her eyes ( _a little red rimmed, had she been crying?_ ) now worriedly darted over him like he’d just dug himself out of a mass grave and lifted her lantern to get a better look, he figured that might be a lost cause. Clothes ripped to shreds and dangling off his shoulders probably only added to the shambling corpse aesthetic. 

And he certainly didn’t miss the way her nose wrinkled either, proving yet again that the spartan treatment of a single bucket of saltwater being dumped over him was _not_ sufficient bathing material. 

Customer service was really lacking these days.

Marco spread his hands out in a “what can you do” gesture, or at least as near as one he could perform with his wrists bound together by a single block and a chain connecting to his shackled ankles. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve looked worse,” he tried to joke, though the appalled expression she shot him quickly wiped the smirk off his face.

“Are you serious? Look at what they’ve _done_ to you,” she whispered urgently, her head swiveling about as she caught something out of the corner of her eye, eyes widening minutely as they landed on the rows of benches and chains in the hold. The hand that wasn’t occupied in holding the lantern rose to cover her mouth, horror dawning on her face as the terrible realization struck. “This is... A—A _slaver’s_ ship! Oh, _God._ ”

Marco shot her a sympathetic look, ignoring the sting of his lips as they twisted. It was clear upon getting a better look at her, that she was completely out of her element, holding onto his cell bars like it was a lifeline as the ship rolled beneath them. She appeared to be a scholarly sort, her glasses well-fitted and clothing overly modest. Certainly not an attire one normally adorned on the high seas, especially since most sailors required freedom of movement and airflow.

_What’s a woman like her even doing all the way out here?_

And then, he saw them. Wings as dark as midnight encircling her shoulders for some modicum of comfort, the feathers glinting with maroon and violet fire in the lamplight.

She was a _Zoan._

“You’re a Devil Fruit user,” Marco stated, noting her flinch as his voice carried louder than he’d expected. He wondered why she was still here. _She can fly right out of this hellhole, so why hasn’t she? Unless—_

“A... A _what?_ ” she asked, her eyes round as she turned to face him, the light of the lantern casting her features in eerie shadow.

 _—Aaand there’s my answer,_ Marco groaned, bowing his head as he realized how _un_ lucky this was. He should have realized upon looking at her. It was clear she’d only recently become acquainted with her Zoan abilities as she seemed to be unable to retract her wings. The haphazard and twisted layout of her feathers was a dead giveaway that she didn’t know how to groom them.. 

His hand twitched, and Marco stamped down the urge that told him to preen her feathers back into place. That was going to bother him until it was fixed.

Shaking away the distracting thoughts, Marco rushed to explain, “A Devil Fruit, when eaten, grants a unique power to the consumer. You, by the look of your wings, ate a Zoan type, which means you have the ability to take on an animal shape at your choosing—probably a bird of some kind.”

The woman gave him an utterly bewildered look, her shoulders slumping as she blinked at him owlishly. Her mouth made an impressive imitation of a fish for a few seconds before she just sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Her eyes were a bit wide and distant as she cast them about.

Looking for an escape.

“Which means you can fly out of here,” he hinted, when she didn’t respond.

“W-what? No, I—I can’t possibly do that,” she argued, shaking her head, the lantern jangling in her grasp, “I have absolutely no idea where I am or what I’m even doing. Let alone _fly._ ”

“You’d rather stay here?” Marco asked, straining forward against his bindings, his wrists jarring painfully as the chain locked in place, pressing against the chafed skin there. He was trying to instill the urgency of the situation with his stance alone, but it was difficult without full range of movement. “Don’t you realize what’s going to happen to you? What’ll happen once that bastard gets bored? All you have to do is look at me to get your answer.”

Her grimace was telling enough, her eyes darting quickly over his state before looking away. She understood perfectly.

Still, he could see indecision and most of all fear that was holding her back, and while he would admit it wasn’t the best of circumstances to learn how to fly at this moment, it was still worth a shot if she was successful.

Because there were worse fates than drowning.

He sighed, shoulders slumping. “Look, I know you’re afraid. And it’s not my intent to scare you, but you have to understand that you can’t stay here,” Marco explained, pressing his fingers together and trying to come off as tactful as he could, “If I could get out of these chains, I’d help you in a heartbeat; but that bastard has the key and I’d rather you get out of here than try to confront that cazodi merruda, yoi.”

Lips pursing, the woman frowned, brows drawn in thought. Taking a moment to consider his words, her jaw clenching. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Marco noticed that her eyes no longer looked watery as she returned his gaze. There was a hint of determination there now.

_Good. She’s going to need—_

“What is your name?”

Taken aback, Marco blinked, surprised at the serious look she was sending him, the stare stern enough that his back straightened almost instinctively. Preparing for a reprimand. Tilting his head to the side and still wondering why it mattered, he answered, “Marco.”

A nod. “Mister Marco,” she began gravely, taking a hesitant breath before forging on, “I won’t ask how you came to be under these circumstances—”

“Yeahhh, ah… It’s a—It’s not an interesting story anyway,” Marco said, a self-deprecating grin that was more a grimace than anything as his face warmed. Embarrassed. He could still feel the way he’d almost physically wilted when the seastone first took effect, and internally cringed at the way he had dropped like a stone mid-air. His body as heavy as a hammer.

His ego was gonna need some time to recover from that.

Heedless of his thoughts, she nodded gravely. A graceful gesture. More regal and controlled than he'd ever credit the crooked despots that bowed to the World Government. "But I do ask you this, Marco," she added, pausing to take another breath before asking, "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

“Every word,” he replied without hesitation, not a shred of doubt in his voice. Though he was most definitely a scoundrel and at worst a “criminal” in the eyes of ordinary laymen and the World Government, he was a man of strict moral fibre. Protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves was simply a part of being a Whitebeard Pirate, the creed of the crew. And even if the bulk of their numbers were sequestered to the New World, it was still a sentiment that they instilled in their allies on the other side of the Red Line.

He had his convictions, not that she knew that. Still, Marco couldn’t help but feel that he was being tested somehow. Faint hope niggled at his mind as his eyes were drawn to her hand, reaching into a hidden pocket on her skirt.

His eyes shot to her own, disbelieving. _No way._

A flash of mischievousness crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Then you wouldn’t happen to know if _these_ are the keys you’re talking about, would you?” And lifted her hand.

Marco swore his brain short-circuited right then at the jingle of metal on metal.

He could have _kissed_ her.

Because there she stood, keys to his freedom in hand, hair wind-tousled and star-flecked eyes bright with the most triumphant grin on her face, as luminous and beautiful as the moon herself.

"You see," she continued on while she flipped through the keys, heedless of the continuous backflips his poor little heart was performing and feeling all the more dazed for it, "As far as I am concerned, we have the same goal. And I cannot in good conscience leave you in the hands of that man. No matter who you are."

As he tried to find the appropriate words to properly express all the joy, appreciation and whatever else he was feeling right now into cohesive sentences—because _how_ —the tricky little blackbird got to work. Her slim fingers were deft and steady despite the obvious shivering he could see in her feathers, lips pressed into a thin line as she opened his cage.

She was putting on a brave face. _Good for her_ , he thought, lips quirking into a smile.

Right before she reached him, he raised his hands in a warding motion, the chain clanking loudly as it stopped him from raising his hands above his waist. He winced as his wrists stung, bleeding anew. “Wait. Don’t touch the metal with your bare hands.” At her confused expression, he explained, “It’s seastone, it drains a Devil Fruit user’s strength when it touches their skin, so please be careful.”

“Is that why they chained you with it?” she asked, all business as she already fitted a key into the first lock without touching it. 

“That’s right,” he said, only to go silent as the lock made a loud _ker-chack_ , a little surprised that she got it on the first try. Its journey to the floor was punctuated by a clap of thunder making the nape of his neck tingle with phantom hackles.

He couldn’t believe this was really happening.

The woman continued her task, heedless of the storm and his inner thoughts, her clever fingers moving swiftly from lock to lock, her delicate brow pinched in concentration. “What kind of Devil Fruit did you eat, if I may ask?”

Giving a non-committal hum as he distractedly watched her work, Marco couldn’t help but give a cheeky grin when she looked up at him questioningly. “You’ll see~ It’s rather spectacular if I do say so myself, yoi.”

A wry smile quirked her lips, making a rather charming dimple appear on the swell of one cheek. And _oh…_ She had a mole on the corner of her left eye. How had he missed that? “You seem so sure.”

“We all have things we’re proud of,” he quipped, enjoying the release of weight for every lock she removed, allowing them to carelessly slide to the floor with loud clanks that the storm thankfully drowned out. Marco breathed out a sigh of relief, carefully rubbing at his wrists when she finally separated him from the block, inspecting some of the scabs that had torn and were now bleeding liberally. 

He also took a moment to really get a good look at his mysterious liberator while she was distracted, noting that she was slight even for her size. Her head of curly black hair just barely reaching the bottom of his sternum, her height only slightly punctuated by the raised heel of her boots. She really did look something as innocuous as a simple store clerk—a high-waisted green skirt over a white blouse upon dark leggings. The little red ribbon tie on her collar matched the frames of her glasses, a delicate chain trailing from the corners of the frames completing the look.

When she came to the last lock, Marco gently eased his hand against her own, stalling. “Let me do the last one,” he said, smiling when she frowned at him, “You might want to stand back, Devil Fruits can run a little wild after being confined for a while.”

He felt only a little bad. She very clearly thought he’d need help standing on his own, and was willing to lend a shoulder if he couldn’t. But a small part of Marco was feeling the need to show off a little, and he knew exactly what kind of spectacle would impress. 

So it was only _after_ she backed away at a distance that he felt was sufficient, that Marco took a deep breath and turned the key over his chest.

The chains fell away.

And he erupted.

Shouting in surprise, the woman reeled back as blue fire exploded from his body in a flash that lit the room and lifted him into the air, the flames snapping out to every corner and snaking its way up the walls. Marco groaned at the sweet release, like a knot in his chest finally breaking loose after being contained for so long. He could feel the burn of his wounds dissipate as his impervious healing took effect, the flesh knitting together seamlessly under flickering embers. A smile curled his lips as his wings formed, the links of his tail feathers winding outward in a chain of gold.

The flames of the phoenix. Restored anew...

Gently, he alighted onto the floor again to stand before the awestruck woman, his flames still slightly keeping him aloft and his clothes flowing in a windless breeze. “So? What do you think?”

“What do I think—you’re on _fire!_ ” she screeched, hair standing slightly on end as feathers crawled up her neck in agitation, clearly unsure about what to do with her hands, flailing them about uselessly, “W-what the hell am I supposed to think?!”

Marco laughed, a full-bellied affair that shook his frame, truly gleeful at such a dramatic response. He couldn't help but puff up a bit as she fussed, a more avian part of him practically preening from the attention.

So, maybe he was a little vain… Not like he could help it with a reaction like _that!_

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t burn,” he explained in a bid soothe her concern, shifting one of his wings back into an arm, the remnants of scales and feathers clinging to its shape as he reached forward, slowly easing back into purely human flesh, “See? It’s not hot.”

Hesitantly, she reached for his hand, her movement’s jerky and unsure like a sparrow. Marco was patient, barely even twitching a finger as he waited for the woman to approach, her inspection of the proffered limb already bird-like in mannerism. Flighty and wary.

Her hands, when they finally reached him, were small and soft against his own larger and more calloused palms, causing a thrill of gooseflesh to flush up his arm, the rustle of leftover scales and feathers making him shiver. The small breath of relief and minute awe as she touched the fire amused him, her fingers gingerly stroking the licking flames, and he chuckled when she turned his hand over, expression serious.

Her brow furrowed. “Your injuries…”

“The flames have healing properties, so whatever wounds I sustain don’t linger around for long,” he explained, his smile falling when he saw numerous little cuts on her fingers, signs of splinters in a few of the wounds. Carefully, he brought her hands closer, inspecting them with a curious croon. “What happened here?”

Looking a little abashed, the woman ducked her head shyly, her eyes canting to the side. “I… may have lost my temper. A bit.”

 _Well now, how very,_ very _cute,_ Marco concluded, expression softening as he hummed in acknowledgement, only to frown once more as he saw various objects sticking out of her wings as well, like she’d used them to bash something. 

_Now that won't do,_ he thought, silently calling upon his powers to flow outward, sealing every cut and splinter on her person, the small gasp and squeeze of his palm letting him know she felt the change. Her tensed wings slowly eased as shards of glass and wood pushed themselves out and clattered to the floor, his flames dancing beautifully among the black down.

 _“_ Good as new,” he said, a secretive smile softly curling his lips as his eyes met her own. Noting, with no small amount of awe, that they gittered like prisms in the light, the grey irises capturing the blue and dancing with liquid fire.

The flush on her cheeks was very flattering.

“What is your name?” he asked, tilting his head a little closer but still keeping an appropriate distance, not wishing to crowd her.

“Oh, um—ah—I-I’m sorry! Juniper. My name is Juniper,” she stammered, seemingly flustered, her bright eyes darting to their joined hands and back. 

He smiled. “Juniper… That’s a lovely name—I uh—apologize if I frightened you,” he quickly amended with a sheepish grin, feeling a bit odd; deftly disentangling his fingers from her own when he realized he was still gently holding them. He rubbed the back of his neck to hide his embarrassment, clearing his throat. “But now that I’m free, I promise I’ll do everything in my power to help you get home. It’s the least I can do.”

Her smile, while sweet, held a sorrowful slant that gave him pause. “Thank you, that is very kind. But please don't feel obligated by my account.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m at your service,” he teased, giving a mock bow that earned a giggle.

Marco admitted to himself that he was immensely curious as to the source of that expression, but figured it’d be pretty uncouth of him to pry into what clearly was a sensitive topic. Perhaps the reason would become clear later.

If they ever got out of here, that is.

_Speaking of—_

He was unable to finish that thought, his entire world flipped on its axis, ending his thought process before he really had a chance to begin, the whole of the ship dutching into a spin that sent the two tumbling before being thrown airborne. Juniper shrieked, wings flailing as she instinctively tried using them in her panic, her uncoordinated efforts making her a prime target for loose debris. Marco quickly pulled her into his embrace, shielding her with his larger wingspan.

“Just what the hell are those idiots doing?!” Marco hissed, flames roaring as he knocked aside a crate with a wing, the flimsy container disintegrating from the force.

“What's happening?!” Juniper cried once they evened out again, clutching at the scraps of his shirt and jacket like her life depended on it, her face tucked against his chest.

“It's a Grand Line storm, those assholes have sailed us right into the middle of a hurricane!” he explained, half distracted by his senses automatically trying to align to the Grand Line’s magnetic field. It wasn't as chaotic as the New World, but it still caused a little bit of disorientation whenever he tuned into it. Having a bird’s instincts came with some advantages though. He “felt” the swell before it hit, the rising water obscuring his sense of the nearest island’s magnetic field allowing him to “see” what it was going to do before it struck. “Get ready for the next loop!”

“Loop?!” was Juniper’s baffled reply, like she didn't understand what he meant, which was fair enough. _Most_ people who came from the Blues had the same reaction when it came to the Grand Line’s weather patterns. Logic and normalcy had new rules the moment you sailed to Reverse Mountain or crossed the eerie stillness of the Calm Belt.

There was a reason it was sometimes called “the seas of madness” or “the pirate’s graveyard.”

It was adapt or die.

Juniper shouted as the ship rolled once again, like a barrel careening down a steep slope. Anything that wasn't nailed down spun about freely, like a tumble dryer at speed; doors and hatches slammed open and closed erratically and if Marco strained his ears hard enough, he could faintly hear the screams of the crew above them.

He kept them suspended in the center of the chaos, his wings both keeping them airborne and deflecting stray projectiles. His large frame acting as a buffer for the small woman in his arms.

And just as quickly as it came, the wind and waves ceased their fury, the ship groaning ominously as it finally righted itself upon calmer waters. Several leaks that had already been present before, gushed forth with greater gusto as the old frame resettled, the storm having done a number on the aging hull. 

He could still hear it grumbling outside, though now at a distance… They were in the eye of it, he was certain.

The wind was howling.

Flapping his wings, Marco was careful to land them away from the pooling seawater and closer to the stairwell, wary that their time on this derelict was coming to a close a mite faster than he was expecting.

Not that he desired to stay in Arsenne’s charitable company for much longer, but he’d at _least_ hoped to take the ship and use it to get to the nearest land mass. However, with the water pooling as it was and the hold listing to the side, it was inevitable that the ship was going to sink unless some quick repairs were made.

And he doubted the crew were up to the daunting task, even under new management. He’d seen just what that blind obedience could do.

 _Guess a flight to the next island is inevitable._ _Just what the hell was he trying to accomplish?_ he wondered, gaze going distant as he thought of the slavers’ strange behavior and their quick need to get as far away from Sabaody Archipelago as possible. At first, he had simply attributed it to the fear of retribution from his own crew, but now Marco wasn't so sure. _Is he really so desperate that he would endanger his entire ship to the whims of a Grand Line storm? In Paradise, no less?_

Something wasn't right.

 _And how does she fit into this, I wonder?_ Marco couldn’t help but muse about the woman in his grasp, _What is her part in the mystery?_

“I… I think your d-definition of a hurricane m-m-might be d-different from mine,” Juniper murmured, breaking Marco out of his musings and he looked down to see the state the storm had left the poor woman in. Her luminous eyes were wide and terrified, her pupils little pinpricks as she shivered and shook, teeth chattering from the adrenaline. He noticed she hadn't let go of his clothes yet, nor moved from where her head was tucked against his chest and half under her wings, the knuckles of her hands having gone white from gripping so hard.

“Sorry, but we can’t stay here any longer,” he said a little regretfully, gentle as he placed a hand over one of her own, feeling the fist relax. They didn’t have any more time to dawdle and as she pulled away from him, eyes downcast and nibbling on her lower lip, it seemed Juniper knew it as well.

Comfort would have to come later. They had work to do.

_Still..._

“Let’s go,” he said, engulfing her smaller hand with his own and quickly tugging Juniper along in his wake, her short gasp seeming to echo as he bolted down the adjoining hallway, the darkness swallowing them. His free hand lit up the gloom, blue flames dancing in his palm to light the way.

The ship was growing heavier on the starboard-aft side, the entrance that Juniper used now knee deep in water and closed to them now, making the deck tilt at a slight incline and growing more steep by the minute. Marco used his wings in quick bursts to cover more ground, his bare feet barely making a sound before he pushed off again, using his talons for better traction.

If it weren’t for the fact he was holding her hand and the persistent drag behind him, Marco would have worried that he’d left Juniper behind, she was so quiet. But a furtive glance back only showed her keeping pace gamely, eyes wide and aware, cheeks flushed. Her wings were instinctively spread to keep balance as she ran on the toes of her boots, preventing her heels from hitting the deck to reduce noise; practically gliding with every lunge.

Marco grinned at the sight. She was adapting.

They made good time, reaching the stairwell that led to midships without a fuss. Not a crewman in sight, though Marco still cut out the flames before reaching the blind corner, the light from the portholes on the midship deck bright enough to not require the need of additional light. Marco could hear them toiling away two decks above however, battening down the hatches and towing lines. The unmistakable tenor of Arsenne filtered down as well, barking orders in Nordford which were accompanied by the sound of a whip cracking.

“This is where things become a bit more dangerous,” Marco whispered, cocking his head as he crept his way slowly up the stairs, trying to triangulate for the nearest noise.

Because it wasn’t a matter of “if” as it was “when” they would run into interference.

Juniper squeezed his hand, for his reassurance or for her own he wasn’t certain, but he returned the gesture all the same. A small pulse of understanding. He was here and he was looking out for her.

They may be practically strangers but they still had a common cause.

And Marco wasn't a man to go back on his word.

“Stay behind me,” he said, gently guiding her along even as his eyes darted about, taking in their surroundings.

Midship was where the main battery, crew's quarters, and any remaining storage that didn’t fit in the hold were ferreted away. As a result, it managed to be a bit more cramped and precarious than the bottom-most deck, the danger of having one’s foot crushed under the rolling wheel of a cannon a very real concern. And with their foray into the Grand Line’s idea of a laundry spin cycle, the mess was worse than usual.

Several cannon carriages were upended, some having even bucked their mounts completely, the gun barrels now embedded either into some unfortunate crates or—in some cases—persons.

Juniper gasped as they started passing the first body and Marco quickly blocked her view, maneuvering her to his side to shield her from the gruesome display. 

It… wasn’t pretty. 

No head was visible, having been crushed, the body twisted and mangled under the length of the cannon. Blood had pooled into a congealed puddle around the site, the cloying coppery smell intermixed with other, less pleasant scents. Generating a heavy pall that reeked of filth and death.

Marco heard Juniper slap a hand over her mouth as she gagged. He didn’t blame her one bit.

Gingerly, they circumnavigated around the carnage and picked their way through the rest of the debris at a steady pace. Juniper kept close to his side, quiet as a mouse and as tense as a coiled spring. 

He appreciated that she was keeping a cool head despite her fear, having personally experienced on numerous occasions the blind panic of civilians and sailors alike. Yet, even with the ever present roar of the storm drawing close again and the growing precarious tilt of the ship, she moved forward with determination. Marco couldn’t help but commend her for her sheer nerve. 

Being a non-combatant amongst a horde of hostiles had the potential to shake even the toughest person’s resolve.

Movement ahead snapped him back to the matter at hand, a small group of crewmen blocking their way. Their eyes were as hollow as he remembered, not even the brightness of the midship deck provided any improvement to their haunted features, eyes wide with wild desperation in their sunken sockets.

“You cannot leave,” the nearest one droned, his Lynian heavily accented with a Nordford drawl, probably Neelith in origin, “Capitano orders…”

“Hang your orders,” Marco growled, quickly guiding Juniper behind him with an outstretched hand, his shoulders beginning to emit a fiery glow as blue feathers rippled into existence, "Your ship is compromised and so is your captain.” Brandishing his other hand in a combat stance, Marco shifted with ease at a quiet urging, the fingers stretching and flexing into talons. “And as far as I’m concerned, _you_ are in the way.”

He didn't give them the chance to grab their pistols, lunging the moment their hands twitched for their waists. There wasn’t a whole lot of room to maneuver in the confined space of the corridor, but Marco made due with a burst of phoenix fire from his palm, bowling them over like a deck of cards. 

The flames themselves, he knew, wouldn’t hurt them. Were incapable of doing so.

Which was why he leapt back in a single bounding arc, scooped up a rather dazzled looking Juniper in his arms, and dashed over his fallen foes with only a minor peep of surprise from his new passenger. Taking heed to pointedly stomp and kick as many as he could while sprinting through, aiming to incapacitate.

Because while he didn't personally have a quarrel with the entire lot, it surely wouldn't do him any favors if they all got in his way again.

And with the resounding racket he and subsequently the crew had made with their caterwauling, Marco knew they didn’t have much time before they regrouped.

Blood thrumming in his veins, Marco couldn’t help but chortle as his body practically _sang_ with the thrill. He hadn’t been lying when he told Juniper that Devil Fruits ran a bit wild after being set free, only omitting the fact that it _also_ affected his state of mind. Marco felt damn near euphoric for every wingbeat and slash of his claws, the weight of his attacks greater and more potent then they’d been before. His phoenix fire licked forth and flared bright white with nary a command from him, almost as if the power itself was rebelling against those that had constrained it.

Still, it felt good to be back.

With the weight of the woman negligible in his grasp, Marco made for the top deck at speed, virtually swimming on the air with the ease at which he bobbed and weaved; slapping aside men with his wings. Juniper tensed every time he leaped or rolled, practically welding herself to his chest with how hard she braced against him. “M-Marco,” she squeaked, her skin hot against his own as she pressed her cheek against his throat, her breathing heavy in panic, “Maybe we should have talked about this?!”

“Not right now,” he gritted between his teeth, running along the wall to avoid the wild flailing of a scimitar while Juniper shrieked in protest at the abrupt maneuver. His flames arcing like a tidal wave, Marco crashed down upon the opposition, the cacophonous roar making his ears pop at the proximity. His victims were easily crushed and tumbled about like a sack of clams on a rocky shore, rolling to a lolling stop against the opposite wall before fainting outright, faint trickles of blood dripping out of their ears.

They sure as hell weren’t getting back up again. And he certainly didn’t wait around to find out.

Bursting into the sunlight was a temporarily blinding experience, the dull interior of the ship’s hull a stark contrast to the heavenly light directly above, a halo of solar brilliance with the cobalt sky as its iris. However, while appreciating Sancta Solii for the first time in weeks might have called for a jubilant affair, the ring of clouds surrounding their position and grumbling with ominous promise certainly were not, making the wild grin on Marco's face sag slightly.

It turned into a thunderous scowl when the familiar rasp of leather zipped through the air, too quick to avoid fully. Marco turned just so, putting himself between Juniper and the imminent danger, his vision skewing for a moment as the whips sliced through his shoulder and severed his wing— 

Marco blinked. The numbing sensation of missing limbs was still a bit disorienting even after all these years. He stared, stunned at the spot where his arm was supposed to be connected. _That shouldn't have happened..._

Juniper screamed, her grey eyes wide and staring in terror, her hands clapping over her mouth as she watched the parted limbs slough away while they hovered, momentarily suspended in the air.

There was no blood, Marco’s flames were too powerful for that. But the sheer fact that Arsenne was able to cut through him with those whips this entire time...

He grimaced.

_Fuck._

The sky and sea spun as he tumbled to the deck, rolling so that he took the brunt of the fall, his remaining wing wrapping around to protect Juniper's head from the impact. She clung to him desperately, her own wings twitching under his remaining arm, like she was instinctively trying to slow their descent. They bounced once, then twice, before skidding across the deck, rolling once more for good measure as their momentum came to a standstill.

“Marco! _Marco!!_ Oh my God!” Juniper cried, squirming out of his grasp in a panic, her wings arching over him protectively as she sought to address his “wound.”

Only to shriek as familiar thick cords snapped around to yank her back toward the mast. Marco having been too slow on the draw to grab her before she was reeled away from him, his arm still regenerating. The smarmy git himself, Arsenne, sneered as his disgustingly distended fingers of the Pishi Pishi no Mi slid possessively over Juniper's body, coiling around her like snakes as he brought her kicking and screaming into his reach.

"Let go! _Let me go!_ Don't you touch me you disgusting, perverse _coward!_ " Juniper snarled, ferocious in her rage, her black hair wild as she thrashed.

Snarling, Arsenne jerked her toward him and slapped her in one motion, her head tilting harshly from the blow. Marco cursed, momentarily seeing red as her soft cheek blossomed into a painful rouge.

Something vicious coiled in his stomach at the sight, Marco's brows drawing together in a deep glower. His teeth clenched together tightly as he issued out a low hiss, skin prickling as feathers began to surface in his anger. 

He was going to rip his fucking arm off.

However, rather than being stunned, Juniper retaliated by whipping her head back up and spitting in the asshole’s face, much to the surprise of the crew. A hush falling among the ranks as they watched the scene unfold. Juniper panted, clearly winded from her earlier struggling, her expression twisting in both pain and rage, gaze fierce.

Marco resisted the urge to lunge when Arsenne grabbed her by the jaw, his longer nails digging into flesh. He was breathing heavily, his magenta eyes dark with obsession or maybe even lust. For her body or for the challenge she presented? It was difficult to decide.

Whatever it was, it was enough of a warning to have Juniper still, the feathers on her wings bristling to make herself bigger. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." She bit out, fear and anger warring with each other as they matched each other stare for stare.

Absently, Marco noticed her hand inching for the pocket of her dress. He very consciously did _not_ look directly in its direction, not wishing to draw attention to her surreptitious activity.

_What is she planning?_

“Phoenix,” Arsenne drawled, addressing Marco, even as he watched with sick fascination as his whips slithered over Juniper's mouth. Effectively cutting her off from further attacks and muffling her voice before turning his fevered gaze to his own. “Good of you to join us.”

“Feeling’s not mutual,” Marco gritted, rolling his shoulder as his arm finished forming from the flames, the flesh knitting back from avian to human as his form restabilized, “Let her go."

"A’me! No niceties this time, Phoenix?" Arsenne sneered, caressing Juniper’s cheek with a twisted grin on his lips. She flinched away from his touch, expression morphing into disgust. “One wonders… You seen her value, yes? A treasure worth more than any. You wish her for yourself." 

Narrowing his eyes, Marco tilted his head in confusion. _What is he going on about?_ He wondered, eyes once more darting to Juniper who was now sporting an equally baffled look behind the cords, leaning as far as away from Arsenne as was physically possible. He returned Arsenne’s stare. “Your point?” Marco asked, curious to see what would come of this line of thinking.

“She’s _mine_ ,” the captain growled, a fanatic gleam to his eye. A steady drizzle of rainfall began again as they reached the leading edge of the eye, the sky beginning to darken as dark clouds blotted out the sun. “Fallen from the heavens themselves. _I_ was chosen. She drifted into mine arms by the grace of the gods! You cannot have her.”

At his word, the crew shambled forward as one, lurking like sharks in a reef and bringing their weapons to bear. Blades and bludgeons glinted menacingly in the steadily waning light, the rumble of the storm drawing nearer once again.

 _So that’s all it was? Religious fanaticism?_ Marco wondered, peering at the diminutive woman in the captain’s clutches, her eyes returning his gaze in incomprehension. Now, he’d seen plenty of things in his time, but none had the ability to _really_ put the fear of the gods in him. Sure, he came from a culture steeped in traditions that were devout in origin… But they were more like _guidelines_ anyway. 

Mostly. 

Alright, so maybe he wasn’t all that sure. It’d been at least twenty-five years since he left home, his memory was starting to get a little foggy on the details. 

It didn’t matter. Fear and respect weren’t the same thing.

And this jackass didn’t even know the meaning of the word.

“Yeah, I doubt the lady agrees. She’s a person, not luggage,” Marco drawled, pressing a fist against his jaw to pop his neck as he considered the dilemma before him.

Juniper was quiet. Grey eyes pleading.

The net of opposition was closing...

He needed to get her away from him.

Suddenly, without prompting Juniper burst into action, her wings throwing off Arsenne's hold just enough to break an arm free, her hand gripping the glinting length of a hair needle he hadn’t known she had on her. The metal flashed as it descended with desperate force, the pointed end sinking into Arsenne’s ribs with a definitive _crack_.

Arsenne stood shocked, his whips receding back to normal finger lengths while Juniper broke away, unable to muster to strength needed anymore to bind her. His face was pallid as he sunk to his knees, leaving Marco to come to the same conclusion as he did.

“S-seastone…” Arsenne wheezed weakly, staring at the needle in unfathomable bewilderment, like he'd never expected it would happen to him, of all people. 

He reached shaking fingers for it, intent to pull it out…

“Like hell!” Marco roared, voice loud enough to combat the sea itself as he darted forward, leaping over Juniper, and coming down upon Arsenne like the scourge of the Furya. His flames swept in a wide arc to send the nearest crew members sprawling, his armament clad claws sinking into sinew and bone with vindictive glee, severing Arsenne's arm at the shoulder.

The captain’s scream was blood curdling, expression contorted in both pain and rage as he covered the spurting wound.

"What goes around comes around, you fucking asshole," Marco snarled and slammed his heel right on the end of the needle, driving it deeper into Arsenne's torso, cutting off his shouts with a wet choke.

No way was he getting that thing out now.

“Juniper, climb the mast!” he shouted as the crew surged toward him as one unit, the ship rolling under his feet as they finally reached the first waves of the storm. Water sloshed over the lip of the main deck, causing some of the men to destabilize when they lost traction. When he looked back and saw she hadn’t moved, eyes wide and staring at her shaking hands, he barked, “Juniper, _now!_ ”

With a jerk, she nodded hastily and began her ascent, skirt billowing in the wind. Satisfied that she was out of the way for now, Marco turned his attention back on his opponents, intending to hold his position and protect her back. Hands shifting into wickedly long talons, he moved, swiftly severing a man’s jugular when he got too close. 

He sprung off the deck as the rest lunged, pirouetting midair to narrowly avoid a pair of blades, one above and one below, and swiftly dispatched the men responsible after they passed, claws raking through them vertically.

“Venii-cui tio merruda!” he snarled. Kicking up one of the sabers, Marco deftly blocked a polearm, deflecting the strike and filleting the man’s arm, his Zoan strength contributing to the act, gouging through the man’s chest and into his lung with minimal effort. Blood arced as he finished the swing, carving a crimson line through the air.

Marco gritted his teeth in a snarl, there were too many to bother with and he was out of time. The storm itself seemed determined to finish the job, and well… Who was he to deny the god of storms her victims? If they were foolish enough to sail the Grand Line on a forsaken vessel such as this, then they deserved Sancta Miirr-Astel’s tumultuous embrace.

For he was just as cruel as he was generous.

“Comae ae la naturra dael teliius,” Marco said solemnly, arms transforming into wings as he rose in one swirling gale, his flames flickered around him like an aura, growing in intensity as he gathered its might. Darkness swallowed them completely, the sea now a raging monolith of green waves and foam from his ethereal light, the sky spitting lightning in its fury as the clouds above boiled in anguish. 

“Itaest.”

And like a thunderclap, his flames crashed _down_ with a resounding crack, one arcing sweep of his wings all that was needed to do the job. The slavers screamed as the flames billowed out from the impact zone, buffeting and tossing the men overboard from the blast wave. The ship bowed inward, floorboards and hull splintering into toothpicks as his fire punched through several decks, effectively gutting the vessel for all it was worth.

 _Now_ it was time to leave.

He found Juniper easily enough, having made it to the crow’s nest in the time it took for him to hold off her pursuers. She was clinging to the mast desperately, gaze hollow and distant as she watched the sea roar around them, her expression bleak.

“Juniper, we have to go,” Marco called, practically shouting over the wind as he landed on the platform, the scraps of his jacket whipping about like miniature flags, “Juniper, do you hear me?”

She didn’t answer, her fingers were digging furrows in the wood, nails likely bleeding from the pressure.

“Come on, Juniper, stay with me. Look at me! Hey!” he shouted, forcing her to look away from the water, his touch gentle as he cradled her face between his hands. Her lashes fluttered as her gaze refocused, pupils like black pools reflected his image back at him, completely dilated in terror. She was breathing heavily. “Look at me,” Marco said more tenderly this time, carefully running his thumb on the steadily bruising mark on her cheek. He would have to deal with that later. “It’ll be okay, just trust me.”

The mast lurched violently, reminding him that they were short on time, the entire ship rolling to its side as it fought for buoyancy against the ever churning sea. Marco braced himself over Juniper, caging her in just in case she slipped and fell, his arms and legs shifting into talons to better grip the rain-slicked mast.

“Do I have a choice?!” she cried out to him in desperation.

“There’s always a choice,” he replied seriously, locking gazes with her as her eyes widened in turn. She was completely soaked to the bone now and shivering uncontrollably, a detail that had him unconsciously drawing his body closer, an attempt to keep her warm. Her once wild hair was now matted to her face and neck in shimmering black veins, a stark contrast that would have made her skin seem ghostly in comparison if her lips hadn’t been so pink.

He looked to the waves, judging the distance and the turbulence, his brows furrowing. “We have to jump,” he said, ignoring her astounded expression as he calculated. They would need to get enough height needed to properly catch a draft, and with her extra weight Marco knew he would need as much of an edge as he could get.

“Phoenix!” Arsenne’s accursed voice broke through his musing, making Marco’s mood darken further, especially when he felt Juniper still in kind. “I’ll get you for this, Phoenix!” he heard the captain wail, turning just enough to see the man shambling toward them. Somehow still standing despite everything. His once pristine appearance now in tatters, blond hair lanky from the rain, and a deep crimson stain painting his entire left side in blood. “You’ve ruined me! Both of you! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you _and_ that little harlot!”

Something grabbed the tattered lapels of his jacket, forcing his attention back to Juniper who was looking at him in mute horror. A quiet admonishment to the task at hand.

Marco felt his expression soften, unable to resist the urge that drove him to comfort the poor frightened woman, his arms entwining about her in an embrace that had her pressing against his chest. “Don’t worry. Just think of it like floating,” he crooned against the crown of her head, body flushing in warmth as her arms looped around his neck, anchoring her to him. Her breath buzzed against his throat, evening out as she slowly began to calm, taking his words to heart. “Close your eyes and I will take care of the rest.”

“Floating… r-right,” she breathed, still a bit shaky, but that would have to do.

Marco watched the waves as they bucked and rolled, waiting for the trough to reveal itself. “Everything will be okay,” he said, gently carding his fingers through her hair as he suddenly felt the anticipation for the flight surge through him. It wasn’t going to be easy and he was already nervous as it was. “Just trust me one more time.”

 _Will my flames hold out until we reach the next island?_ He wondered, knowing that at this point there was really only one way to find out.

“Don’t—don’t you dare!” Arsenne cried with a frantic edge; closer now. Marco didn’t even bother to look at him as he watched his opportunity open, the swell they were on cresting at an enormous height, the ship teetering on the edge of a watery mountaintop. “Don’t leave me here!”

“You made your choice,” Marco said sternly, before tightening his grip around Juniper and seamlessly slipping off into the abyss.

Distantly, he might have heard the anguished cry of the slaver captain, but was too preoccupied with the cacophonous roar of the sea as thousands of metric tons of water thundered all around him. Marco dove for the wind, feeling out the air currents as they whistled by at an increasingly suicidal pace, liquid death loomed at every quarter, enclosing around them like the jaws of a titanic seaking.

Then he felt it, a warm updraft, and his Zoan instincts zeroed in on it like a predator to its prey. His wings snapped outward, catching the air and like a kite on a string they rose above the surge, rapidly gaining height.

They weren’t out of the woods yet…

And with that in mind, Marco let the winds guide him, unknowing of where it may lead as the storm clouds swallowed them up.

xXx

The sound of rolling waves and the raucous call of gulls were the first things Juniper heard as she regained consciousness.

Her eyes creaked open, blinking blearily in the bright light, the sun beating down mercilessly from above. Sand was the first thing she saw, shimmering with tiny gold and white refractions, caking the length of her arm.

She blinked and flexed her fingers.

The grains shifted between them, the tendons stiff from overuse.

_What happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Notes for funzies:  
> Ach, cazodi ignii = "Oh, fucking hell"  
> Cazodi merruda = "fucking shit" or "fucking filth"  
> Sancta = "holy" or "sacred" or "blessed"  
> Solii = Goddess of the Sun  
> The Furya = basically the gods' punishment brigade  
> Venii-cui, tio merruda! = "Come here you filth!"  
> Miirr-Astel = God/dess of the Sea and Stars  
> Comae ae la naturra dael teliius = "Such is the nature of the world"  
> Itaest = "so it is" or "amen"
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me on my blog where I gab about writing and headcanons at ffs-abalisk.tumblr.com


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